


Quentin Beck, Accidental Hero

by raspberriesnchocolate



Series: Mysterio the unhappy hero, aka Quentin Beck isn’t a super villain, just a grouch [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Good Guy Quentin Beck, Hero Quentin Beck, Kinda, Tony Stark makes a habit of annoying Quentin Beck, Tony Stark wants to Queer Eye Quentin Beck, hes just not a villain but he’s not exactly a good person, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-09-02 12:29:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberriesnchocolate/pseuds/raspberriesnchocolate
Summary: Quentin Beck isn’t a good person. He’s selfish, has emotional issues, and would rather kiss a robot than a human, probably.Quentin Beck is not a good guy.Until he is.





	1. Quentin and the Keurig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin is sick of watered-down coffee.

Quentin Beck would swear up and down that it had been for the betterment of everyone’s quality-of-life.

He had never thought that fixing the crummy old keurig would end in such a…  _ positive  _ response.

Something in him must’ve cracked after being forced to drink a cup of horribly watered down coffee. Stress from a day of fruitless work combined with subpar coffee and frustration over the fact that he worked in one of the most advanced tech companies in the world and no-one had even  _ tried _ to fix the goddamn-

Okay, maybe Quentin could’ve just emailed somebody to ask them to replace it (they worked under Tony Stark, for Christ’s sake), but in that moment, he had decided to take the issue into his own hands.

Literally.

Quentin had unplugged the thing and hauled it to his lab, where his coworkers barely spared him a glance.

He somehow found himself  _ more  _ frustrated that it only took around fifteen minutes or so of tinkering with the keurig to fix it. He almost wanted to throw it on the floor and break it again, but he restrained himself and picked it up to bring to the break room he had kidnapped it from.

“Afternoon, Beck!” A far too chipper employee from a few labs down greeted, hopping into the elevator, oblivious to the grumpy mood Quentin was in.

“‘Noon,” he gruffly offered back, hoping that the woman would pick up on his obvious funk he was in.

“What’s that?” She pressed. Quentin wanted to chuck it at her. Stark Industries employed the best and the brightest? Yeah, right.

Instead of answering verbally (he didn’t quite trust himself not to snap), he lifted the keurig up for her to see.

“Is that the keurig from the break room? Why’ve you got it with you? Oh, did you fix it?” She rushed out, bubbly voice grating Quentin’s nerves like cheddar.

He just nodded, and she hummed thoughtfully. He almost sobbed in relief when the elevator dinged and opened, speeding out of the enclosed space and making a beeline towards the break room.

There were a whole lot more people than he expected. What time was it? Oh, break. Of course.

As sneakily as he could (which wasn’t very sneaky, considering he was dressed in all black in a brightly lit room, as well as lugging around a heavy coffee machine), he trudged to the counter and placed the keurig onto its rightful place, plugging it in.

To test it, he grabbed a mug and made himself a cup of hot, not watered down, perfectly brewed coffee. Finally. He ignored the slight burning sensation as he sipped.

“Beck?” Quentin jolted and almost choked on his (finally dark, God, he had missed it) coffee and turned around slowly.

Another employee was looking at him and the coffee machine in something akin to awe.

“Oh my God, Beck’s fixed the keurig!” The man shouted, pointing, as if the rest of the employees were unable to see him for themselves.

Quentin just took a slow, awkward sip, giving a polite nod to them. He deeply regretted testing the machine. He should’ve gone back to the lab.

Being surrounded by the impressed or mildly awed faces of his coworkers made Beck realize something, though.

He never, ever talked to these people.

Suddenly, the room burst into chatter, as if he had just announced that he had gotten engaged or was pregnant or was being promoted.

It was a goddamned coffee machine, why were they thanking him profusely? It was unnerving, having so many eyes on him at once. In some ways, Quentin could appreciate it, the admiration directed towards him, but in every other way, Quentin found himself immensely uncomfortable.

“Yup. Uh, it’s no problem, just wanted to help-” He gulped down the rest of his coffee hastily, making his escape through the crowd of coffee-loving Stark employees.

Taking the elevator back to his floor and rushing into his lab, he sank down at his work table, cursing the stupid keurig.

Quentin was possibly one of the worst people at social interaction, something that needed to change. He hadn’t realized how bad he was at it until all those eyes were staring at him. If he couldn’t handle the stares of his own coworkers, how the hell was he supposed to handle the fame once his life’s work of light manipulation paid off?

He groaned, rubbing his eyes and pulling at the suddenly itchy collar of his turtleneck.

People were problematic, Quentin decided, gripping a pencil tight enough to ground him.

Yes, he would deal with people once they came for him to deal with. Cross that bridge when he came to it and all that.

With that thought in mind, he nodded, and kept up his work for another several hours, never once leaving to get another cup of coffee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is self-indulgent, oops! Tony’ll barge in later, don’t worry.


	2. Quentin’s Questionable Cat Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin should’ve tried it elsewhere.

Maybe this experiment would be a bust, Quentin lamented as he furiously flicked a modified laser pointer on and off. Of course, the miniature hologram had worked fine indoors, shedding its light in a controlled, dark environment. However, in the outdoors, where Quentin was currently standing, the sunlight was harsh and unsteady due to the billowous clouds above.

_ Maybe I should invest in some new clothes,  _ he thought, tugging at the sweaty turtleneck collar.

He was just outside Central Park, trying to test out an illusion of a small hummingbird. The device in his hand seemed to sputter and die every few seconds, and like all mechanics and engineers, Quentin had one surefire solution.

Quentin took the small laser pointer and smacked it harshly on the side. For a moment, the hummingbird took shape, buzzing in the air a few feet in front of him. In his elation at getting it to work, Quentin swung the device to the side, where several somethings suddenly dislodged from the tube, landing silently on the grass.

Quentin cursed when the hummingbird disappeared. It seemed only one of the lights remained, effectively turning the sophisticated portable hologram into what it was originally: a laser pointer.

Seeing as the pieces were probably too damaged to salvage, Quentin amused himself by shining the laser pointer in people’s faces and spelling crude words to soothe the annoyance in his mind.

He was in the middle of writing a long ‘s’ on the trunk of a large tree when a white and orange blur raced down the side of the tree, following the laser pointer’s dot.

Quentin jolted, fist curling around the device in a way that brought the blur towards him.

He resisted shrieking, bringing his knees up swiftly when the demon slowed down right at his feet.

Before he could get a real look at it, a little girl wearing the brightest shirt he had ever seen came bounding over with a lollipop and a grin missing more than a few teeth. Quentin wanted to run.

“You got him down! He was stuck, and you got him down!” The girl exclaimed excitedly, waving the lollipop towards him.

“Him?” Quentin responded dumbly, shrieking out loud when sharp claws dug into his legs and a weight settled itself in his lap.

Against his better judgement, he looked down and made eye contact with the ugliest cat he had ever seen. It had eyes the color of faded highlighters, with an odd splotchy coat that looked as though someone had spilled carrot juice onto a white carpet.

“...” The beast’s poisonous glare sent a shiver down his spine. To make matters even  _ better,  _ a woman and a man strolled over, laughing at his predicament.

The woman, presumably the excitable little girl’s mother, giggled and put a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Now, now, don’t bother the nice man. Just say thank you, darling.”

The girl rushed out a quick thank you before reaching over and trying to yank the ugly thing off of his lap.

Now, Quentin wasn’t the most experienced with animals, but he guessed that yanking a cat from its place was bound to end in blood.

Both he and the cat hissed, the cat because it was being removed from a warm, soft lap, and Quentin because in its effort to stay put, the long, sharp claws of the creature dug into his thighs. He was sure that blood had been drawn by the time the girl managed to dislodge the demon from his lap.

The mother and father then turned around and left the way they came, and Quentin wanted to chuck the cat at them. Did he even get an apology for being mauled? Or a thank you from someone other than the little girl?

Quentin was sure that he really,  _ really,  _ didn’t like people.

The little girl turned to follow, and Quentin breathed a sigh of relief. Of course, nothing ever went his way, so the girl turned right back around, carelessly moving the cat from one arm to another to dig through her pocket.

She skipped back over, jostling the demon with every step. She held out something for him with an expectant look. Quentin sighed and took whatever she was offering him from her open palm, murmuring an unenthusiastic thank-you.

“Thank you for helping Toasty!” She answered before speeding off. For a few seconds, Quentin wondered if he had finally cracked and hallucinated the whole experience, but the sting on his legs as well as the weight of something in his hand assured him that he really had just met Satan.

Looking down, Quentin uncurled his fist, finally seeing what the little girl had given him.

An unwrapped sucker lay in his palm. Quentin blinked, bringing his hand closer to see what flavor it was.

Butterscotch.

Quentin didn’t like butterscotch. 

Nonetheless, he pocketed the sweet and made his way back to Stark Tower.

On his way to the tower, he passed no less than twenty-seven trash cans, and had twenty-seven chances to toss the butterscotch sucker away. But he didn’t, and he was troubled because he wasn’t quite sure why.

At some point while he was working to fix his miniature hologram, the sucker went from his pocket to his free hand. He fidgeted with the sweet, rolling it clumsily between his fingers as he worked.

Oddly enough, even with one hand preoccupied with spinning and rolling the candy between his fingers, Quentin had a hummingbird buzzing around the lab in only three hours, even with fluctuating light conditions. He tried not to think too hard about it.


	3. Beck and the Burglar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin felt like beating someone up. How convenient, then, that a mugger was in his way?

Quentin Beck was not having a good day.

Tony Stark, his boss, had waltzed into his lab for the first time in what, two years, only to take one look at the setup and say that he expected more before leaving.

Quentin hadn’t had time to explain the possibilities of his project, the potential, the good and bad outcomes that could be achieved through his own technological might.

Stark had decided to give Quentin a paid day off, effective immediately, and somehow, Quentin felt like it was malicious.

After a moment’s deliberation, Quentin packed up some of his work, including a small device that held the unapplied coding, coding that could boost how interactive the experience was by 110%.

Perhaps, in another life, Quentin would have stormed out, not bothering to pack his work. In that life, Stark would have snooped around and taken the idea and tech from behind Quentin’s back, applying his code then and there and writing some more to turn it into his own, naming it BARF, and making an enemy of Quentin Beck. Nevermind the fact that Quentin worked under Stark, and his inventions contractually belonged to the man.

But that was another life. In this life, Quentin Beck was stomping home with around twenty to thirty pounds of tech in a suitcase, grumbling under his breath about the callousness of his boss, which any passerby in New York could relate to.

Quentin muttered angrily under his breath. The gall of Stark, to shove him out of his own lab and insult his appearance while he was at it- so what if he had rings under his eyes and wore a turtleneck? He wasn’t the only one! They worked in a lab, for God’s sake! Of course he didn’t get sleep!

A burly man ran up the street, shoving people out of his way through shoulders, curses, and sharp elbows. He barreled towards the grumpy engineer with the intention of throwing him to the ground to stall his pursuer.

Quentin was already in a sour mood, so when someone harshly tried to shove him away, calling him a foul name, the thin grip he had on his patience snapped and he swung the thirty pound suitcase into their back with a shout, causing them to fall to the ground. 

Did something crack?

A purse fell from the man’s hands, and Quentin picked it up before the man could, stepping on his hand unrepentantly, observing the expensive looking bag.

He glanced at the purse, realizing the man was a mugger. He was mildly disgruntled at how his shoulder felt after swinging the case around. Of course, the man on the ground probably felt a lot worse.

After a moment, the actions that he had taken sunk into Quentin’s brain.

“Oh, boy-” He muttered, looking down at the purse, and then his suitcase, and then to the downed man.

“Ex- Excuse- me,” Quentin looked up to see a very flushed and out of breath woman standing hunched over, panting. Her eyes flickered from him to the man on the sidewalk.

Quentin sighed and held out the bag, fully intending to give it to her and make his way home. She took it, relief evident on her face.

“Thank you, sir, th-that man, he took my purse,” Quentin resisted rolling his eyes. No shit, he took your purse, he thought, “I wasn’t, ah, fast enough. So thanks. That was brave.”

He resisted giving her a, “yeah, yeah, whatever,” and leaving immediately, even though his couch at home sounded like a  _ really  _ good place to take a nap on right now.

The woman gave him a grateful smile, and Quentin only then noticed that a few people were observing him. 

He faltered, the anger in his veins simmering down a bit. What was he supposed to say? He couldn’t just tell her that he had done it to blow off some steam, could he?

“It- I wasn’t brave, that was just- I could, so I  _ did, _ ” The small crowd seemed endeared by his apparent modesty, nodding in approval to his hesitant heroism, or what they thought was a show of bravery.

“Still, thank you, very, very, much!” The woman smiled at him (could she stop? There was a bit of broccoli or something green in between her canine and front tooth) and looked down at the man, who seemed to have a broken hand. Quentin then noticed that he had been standing on the man, efficiently keeping him down.

“Did anyone call the police?” Quentin’s annoyance and uncaring of the woman and mugger translated well into hero-speak, giving a calm, clear, and unphased tone.

“Yes, sir.” An older man waved his phone in the air.

Quentin scratched the back of his head. He really should be going, shouldn’t he? But that wouldn’t look too good if he just left before the cops got there. Some of these people looked like they were gossips, he could just tell.

Quentin paused, glancing at the crowd, who was staring at him still in avid interest, before kneeling, opening his suitcase and pulling out a metal cord. The cord was meant for machinery, but it would work fine as a restrictor.

With hands used to forcing metal into submission, the turtleneck wearing engineer deftly secured the muggers wrists, even the injured one, wincing when it shifted in a way that probably wasn’t normal. A quick scan of his surroundings showed a bike rack, which Quentin tied the other end of the cord to. 

He would just nab another one at SI. Stark paid for everything, after all.

“I’ve gotta go home. This should hold him ‘til the cops come.” He said firmly, surprising himself with his own tone that dared anyone to challenge him. If only he had used  _ this  _ tone when arguing with Stark, not the borderline whine that hadn’t moved his boss one bit. In fact, the shorter man seemed amused at the near-tantrum Quentin had thrown, and Quentin knew that if the hero had been taller, he definitely would have ruffled his hair. Stark’s hands had been twitching to pat him on the head condescendingly.

The surrounding people nodded their assent and dispersed except for a few, who decided to wait for the cops.

Quentin turned to make his way back to his apartment, before a hand on his sore shoulder turned him around.

“I didn’t get your name,” The lady whose purse he had liberated said, staring into his eyes. Quentin reeled back minutely, cringing back from the cheesy line. Uh oh, he didn’t like the look on this woman’s face, not one bit.

For a moment, he considered telling her his name was Beck, Quentin Beck. He had been a hero, in this moment. He had been a good person. Saying a cool phrase like that would surely be a moment off the bucket list, right?

But the moment passed and his annoyance grew as he shrugged off her hand, turning with a, “No, you didn’t.”

_ Oh, that sounded even cooler. _

With that, Quentin moved his briefcase to his other hand, rolling his shoulder with a hiss. He supposed that his supposed “hero” image was dispelled when he stomped off to his apartment, but being a hero wasn’t really in his blood.

He would leave being a good person to his boss. Or at least to Iron Man, who Quentin was convinced was a whole different person to the short, sassy man who barely visited.

And as he lugged his briefcase up the stairs to his apartment, Quentin Beck couldn’t help the smile that crept up his face, standing a little taller when he realized that some people out there, that tiny New York crowd, believed Quentin Beck to be a hero.

It felt good.


	4. Beck and the Boss (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin wants to clock this superhero in the face.

Quentin was the last one in the lab tonight, working hard on the full-scale illusion that would run for around an hour undisturbed. The wonderful thing about the big holograms was that there was an adapting feature that made the illusions change according to interactions from the real world. If you pushed a hologram, they would stumble back. If there was a breeze in the room, things would wave and shift. It was perfect.

Quentin was just touching up on the start of an illusion, one of his lab. The hologram would display an empty lab that would slowly fill with people. He had created it with the intention of presenting how seamless an illusion could be, only to break it by walking through it.

Suddenly, the squeak of shoes against the floor alerted him to the man stumbling into his lab.

“Mr. Stark?” He asked incredulously, eyeing the rumpled appearance of his boss.

“Hey, Quarter, nice to see you,” the man slurred, shuffling dazedly to him.

Quentin put down his tablet, eyeing Stark suspiciously.

“What are you doing here? It’s late- woah!” Quentin quickly caught Tony, who had slumped forward in a drunken trust-fall.

“Oh god,” Quentin huffed, easily holding the intoxicated superhero.

“See, Cue-ball, I like you! I like you a whole lot- but I think you should loosen up a little, you’re so highstrung-“ Stark babbled, happy to be hauled to a nearby chair.

He slumped in the chair, turning so his legs were draped over the armrest. Quentin sighed, wondering if Stark would eventually pass out.

“You wear turtlenecks all the time. And what’s with the hair? It’s a total gelmet- you know it’s okay to let a few bits loose? Oh, you’d look great if you-“ Stark clumsily batted at Quentin’s slicked back hair, messing it up enough for a few strands to fall over his eyes. Quentin surged back.

“Sir-“ he tried, huffing again in frustration when Stark just turned away, snuggling into the leather of Quentin’s chair. Quentin watched, baffled.

Abruptly, the drunken man turned and stared fearfully at the doorway, where the clicking of heels and crooning tones of “Tonyyyy!” echoed from the hall.

“Q, please, hide me from the beast!” The footsteps got louder and louder, and fearing that Stark would take vengeance for his inaction, Quentin booted up the hologram of an empty lab, with him being the lone worker, tinkering at a device on a desk.

Stark held his breath, blinking in dazed surprise when he heard the whirring of machines.

A woman, obviously inebriated, stumbled into the room mere seconds after the hologram stabilized.

“Tonyyyy! Oh, you’re not Tony!” She pouted at Quentin.

Quentin just blinked owlishly at her, utilizing his “freakishly large but somewhat endearing” eyes. Stark had said that to him the day before.

“No, I’m not.”

The woman pouted some more and scanned the room, squinting at the empty lab. Finally, unable to find her target, she huffed and stumbled out.

Quentin waited until he couldn’t hear her footsteps before deactivating the illusion. 

As the real lab flickered back into view, Quentin realized that Stark was dozing off in his chair, snoring softly. A muscle in Quentin’s jaw jumped in annoyance.

Where was he supposed to sit?

Quentin huffed, crossing his arms and glaring at the sleeping man.

“Stark.” He growled, tapping his foot impatiently. Stark let out a loud snore in response.

Quentin hissed, hands twitching to slap Stark awake and out of his chair.

Stark snored loudly, and Quentin sighed, giving up on the idea. With a grimace, he put his arms under Stark’s legs and torso, lifting him easily out of the chair.

Stark grumbled and snuggled into Quentin’s chest. Quentin almost whimpered. This was so awkward. If Stark woke up, Quentin’s integrity was gone. 

He looked around, finding his coworker’s fancy lab chair that would suffice. 

Quentin walked to the chair, trying not to jostle Stark too much. The worst possible thing that could happen was for the man to wake up from where he was resting his head against Quentin’s chest.

Quentin carefully dumped his boss in the chair, moving away carefully, trying to push Stark away from his chest.

Stark suddenly let out a quiet whine, like someone who had been hit in the stomach. Quentin froze. This was not the cocky, surefooted Iron Man, who flew into aliens’ faces to beat them and protect the world.

Maybe it wasn’t Stark either, the boss who was callous and rude, playing with delicate machinery like it was a toy.

The man’s eyes were screwed shut, and his breathing was quickening.

Maybe this was Tony? Quentin paused, not wanting to think of the implication that his boss was a person with problems.

Stark fisted a hand in the material of Quentin’s turtleneck, keeping him in place.

“Gotta save- I’m gonna save them. They’re gonna die. They’re gonna die. They’re gonna-“

Stark was murmuring to himself, beginning to tremble. Quentin balked, unsure of what to do. What was happening? Was this normal?

“Stark?” He asked, risking the chance of Stark waking up to be uncomfortably close to Quentin.

Stark shook his head, fingers shaking and twitching.

“Stark-“

“I needa save em, else they’ll die. They’re gonna-“

Quentin didn’t know what it was that made him place his hand over the fist in his sweater. Stark’s hand was sweaty and trembling.

“I don’t need saving.” He said firmly. It wasn’t the best phrase he could utter, he realized. He should’ve said something like “you’ll be okay.” 

However, Stark relaxed a bit. Quentin gulped. Okay, just need to calm him down, then get him out of my bubble.

“What if you die?” Stark whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek. Quentin tensed. Oh god, a crying person. What the hell was he supposed-

“I’m not gonna die.” Quentin said, sarcasm in his voice. Yeah, he was terrible at comforting people.

Stark quieted a bit more, but his fingers still trembled and another tear spilled from his closed eyes.

“You should give me a raise.” Quentin sighed, dropping his head. He was tired, and comforting crying bosses wasn’t in his job description.

Stark let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh.

“Stark. No one’s- nobody’s dead, got it?” He didn’t mean for annoyance to leak in his tone, but he didn’t exactly have a compassionate side. His voice was firm, and he could have been explaining basic math with how sure and monotone his voice sounded.

Stark loosened his grip on Quentin’s sweater. 

“You sure?” Stark whispered, so low that Quentin would’ve missed it.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He answered simply, breathing out in relief when Stark’s fist dropped from his sweater. The nightmare was soothed, then.

Now that that was over, Quentin wasn’t sure what to do. Should he wake the man up?

After thinking it over, Quentin shook his head. No one liked to be woken up, and he wasn’t about to do that to the man who controlled his payroll.

Stark was bound to be uncomfortable once he woke up, but Quentin couldn’t do anything about that. He wasn’t about to go the extra mile for someone who most likely wouldn’t remember it when he woke up.

(Nevermind the fact that he hadn’t needed to help the man with his night terrors, nor did he have to heft Stark into a more comfortable spot, nor did he have to hide him from the woman with a shrill voice. Quentin hadn’t gone the extra mile, he’d run the whole damned marathon.)

Stark snored peacefully in his spot, giving Quentin some company as he went back to working on his project.

Sometime around 4, Quentin fell asleep too, fingers clasped around an unopened butterscotch sucker.

When he woke, Stark had vanished.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Tony swaggered to the Avengers floor, heading immediately to his lab. Once the doors closed, he exhaled and slouched his shoulders, rubbing his tired eyes. Despite having a very foggy memory, and almost no recollection of the previous night, Tony felt well rested, an unexpected but not unwelcome surprise.

He idly patted Dum-E on the head, sliding into his chair, noting how it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the one he had passed out in.

When Tony had woken up, it was to an empty lab that he didn’t quite remember going into. He didn’t even remember what that particular lab was for, but it had a very comfy chair. He thought he heard a distant whirring of machinery, but when he looked around, he only saw an empty lab. He must’ve hid there from the lecherous reporters.

“Hey, J, what the hell did I get up to last night?”

A screen materialized in front of him, and he blinked, watching security footage from multiple cameras.

A drunk Tony Stark stumbled into an elevator, closing the door on an equally intoxicated woman. Drunk-Tony slapped a spot on the floor selector, bringing him to a random floor filled with labs.

Sober-Tony watched, vaguely amused, as Drunk-Tony strutted into a lab. He sighed when he saw that there was a man in there, what was his name? Quixote?

Drunk-Tony promptly fell into Q-tip’s arms, and the look of pure distress on the man’s face caused Sober-Tony to burst into laughter.

He made an absent note to give the turtleneck wearer a raise, watching him hide his drunken self from the pursuer in heels.

A very good raise indeed, Tony thought, watching himself be hefted into a chair.

The smile dropped from his face when he saw the trembling in his sleeping self’s fingers. He recognized what was happening, he was having a nightmare.

He flushed with embarrassment when he saw that he had curled a fist into Q’s sweater. Tony couldn’t help but groan, seeing how vulnerable he was in front of this employee.

Tony tilted his head, leaning forward to observe how the man awkwardly (and kind of sarcastically) calmed his sleeping self down. He snorted, listening to the murmur of, “You should give me a raise.”

He huffed in baffled surprise when the engineer just left him, turning to work on whatever he had been working on before Tony had stumbled in.

“J, zoom in on his left hand. What is that?”

“Mr. Quentin Beck is holding a butterscotch dum-dum.”

Dum-E wheeled over enthusiastically, hearing his name. Tony patted him on the head once more and sent him away.

“Weird. Also, his name! What did you say his name was?”

JARVIS managed to put exasperation in his tone. “This man’s name is Quentin Beck.”

Tony hummed, absentmindedly telling JARVIS to give him a raise.

A few clicks later, and Tony had a suitable thank you for Quentin Beck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the Tony content I promised you!


	5. Beck and the Boss (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quentin decides that when he becomes a millionaire, he won’t use his money to harass people like Stark did.

Quentin blinked blearily at the basket in the break room. It was obnoxious and bright, filled with a few folded up sweaters.

“It’s for you, Beck!” Someone said. Quentin turned, nearly whimpering when he saw the note attached to the basket.

“Who’s it from?” The chipper employee from the elevator a few days before questioned. Quentin shrugged, grabbing the note.

_ My Dear Quentin Beck, _

_ When I say you should stop wearing so many turtlenecks, I’m really not kidding. _

_ So, along with a raise, I picked these up for you! _

_ Don’t you dare refuse it, I’m not above leaving sweaters in your lab and tossing them at your doorstep. _

_ I had a great time last night!  _

_ -Tony Stark _

Quentin folded the note back up, feeling his ears flush red, picking up a dark green sweater under the curious gazes of his coworkers.

It felt expensive- it  _ looked  _ expensive, and if Tony Stark had really bought these for him, it probably was.

Quentin unfolded the sweater, noting that it had no turtleneck. Something fell out, landing on the floor with a click. Quentin picked it up, twitching when he realized what it was.

A butterscotch sucker, unwrapped.

Quentin didn’t like butterscotch.

A muscle in his jaw jumped in annoyance. At least he had gotten a raise.

Quentin picked up the basket after carefully putting the expensive sweater inside. A quiet crackling noise warned him that the sucker that had fallen out of the sweater wasn’t the only one.

He winced, hefting the gift basket under one arm, flushing at the speculative looks from his coworkers.

“‘I had a fun time last night?’” The bubbly coworker mouthed behind his back to another, who had also read the note before Quentin had gotten there.

Coupled with the sweets and the sweaters, rumors were bound to run rampant.

Quentin hurried out of the break room and headed to his lab, glaring at a security camera, hoping Stark would see his displeasure. He just wanted a raise, not cashmere sweaters and a permanent supply of butterscotch dum-dums!

He dumped the basket on his desk, sifting through the sweaters to find a treasure of sweets, all lollipops in different flavors. Butterscotch was the most common.

Grudgingly, Quentin took a blue raspberry flavored lollipop and unwrapped it, sticking it in his mouth and starting his work, trying to ignore his lab partners, who were not-so-subtly hinting that they wanted lollipops.

“Stupid Stark and his stupid suckers and his stupid sweaters,” he muttered to himself, typing a bit harder than he should have.

It took a few hours, but Quentin finished his work, standing back to admire it. His pride died down when he spotted a small figure in a reflection.

He spun around, pointing at a smug and mildly impressed Tony Stark.

“You! Why’d you give me those? I just wanted a raise!” Tony strolled over to him, swaggering in that Stark™ way.

Tony looked incredibly amused, but Quentin kept going, flushing with embarrassment when he recalled the knowing looks his coworkers gave him.

“That card- why’d you phrase it like that? People  _ read  _ that! And- I don’t even like sweets in general, why’d you even-“

Tony put a hand up, shushing Quentin. Quentin crossed his arms, clearing his throat so his whiny tones would go away.

“First of all, your tongue is blue, so you’re a big fat liar,” Tony started. Quentin pursed his lips into a thin line, covering his mouth with his hand.

“Second of all, you were fiddling with a butterscotch dum-dum, and I noticed that you’ve had one everyday since Tuesday.” Quentin was acutely aware of the butterscotch lollipop the girl had given him in the park. It was in his pocket, a tiny weight on his hip.

“Third of all, it’s true! I had a  _ great time _ last night.” Quentin’s hands twitched. He wanted to throttle the man. Judging from the look on Stark’s face, he would probably enjoy it, so Quentin resisted.

“By the way- why are you still wearing a turtleneck? I got you those sweaters for a reason!”

Quentin growled. “My turtlenecks are  _ fine, _ and I never asked for those sweaters.”

“Well, you never asked for a blue raspberry lollipop, but you took it anyway,” Tony shot back, going to the basket and taking a butterscotch sucker, popping it in his mouth and tossing the wrapper at Quentin.

Quentin twitched when it his face. “Stark-“

“Call me Tony!” The man offered.

Quentin twitched again, “ _ Stark,  _ is there a reason you’re here?”

Tony blinked. “I just wanted to see you after the magical night we spent together-“

“What!?” Quentin turned to see his lab partner, Mike, blushing furiously, mouth hanging open.

“Okay-  _ no,” _ Quentin pointed to Mike. “-and  _ no,”  _ he pointed to Stark, who smiled brightly at him.

“What? It’s true,” Stark crooned, taking the lollipop out of his mouth to blow a kiss to Quentin. Mike put his hands over his mouth, going through all the stages of shock at once.

“Mike, I did not sleep with Tony Stark,” Quentin stressed to Mike, who just looked disbelieving.

“JARVIS, did we sleep together?” Stark called to the ceiling. Quentin flushed red when the answer came.

“After you passed out, Mr. Beck stayed awake for a few more hours before sleeping as well. So yes, the two of you did, essentially, sleep together.”

“You take that back!” Quentin shrieked to the ceiling, almost stomping his foot in rage.

The ceiling remained silent.

Quentin spied Mike’s fingers tapping furiously at his phone.

“Mike! Don’t you dare!” “Mike! Is that an iPhone?” Quentin and Tony both yelled at the same time.

“I trusted you, Mike! I pay you enough for a Stark Phone, why the hell are you using an Apple product?”   
  


“You better not be spreading lies, Mike!” Quentin hissed through clenched teeth.

Mike faltered, but the unmistakable hum of a sent text answered for him.

Quentin growled. Stark looked ready to giggle, and reached up to pat him on the shoulder. Quentin was glad he couldn’t reach his head.

Quentin glared at the shorter man. “Is that all,  _ Tony?”  _ Tony looked thrilled at the name, clapping his hands.

“Now it is!” He rejoiced before snagging another dum-dum and leaving the lab. Quentin watched him go, almost pouting with how embarrassed and angered he felt.

_I don’t get paid enough for this._

As soon as Tony’s footsteps were out of hearing, Quentin turned to Mike, a murderous glare on his face.

“Mike, who did you text?”

“I-I, Quen, you gotta understand, it’s big news!”

“ _ Who, Mike?” _

“I mean, we all suspected you were gay, we all sort of thought you were-“

Quentin had enough of Mike’s blabbering, moving to snatch the iPhone out of his hand.

Quentin blinked. It was a group chat. His finger tapped at a symbol, and his eyes went wide at the amount of people in it.

All of them raving about how cute Quentin and Tony were together.

He didn’t even  _ know  _ half of these people.

“ _ Mike, I’m going to kill you. _ ” He hissed through clenched teeth, hand curling around phone.

Mike gulped and stuttered out an excuse before running away, tripping on his own feet and leaving Quentin alone in the big lab clutching a phone.

The phone buzzed, and Quentin looked down to see another text from the chat, this time commenting on…

He squinted. What the hell was a top? And why did they all seem adamant that he was one? Switch? Like a light switch? He made a mental note to search it up later. He should really start talking to people.

Quentin sighed and put the phone down, wiping his hand on his pants.

Apart from the occasional buzz, he spent the next few minutes in silence, contemplating the sweater basket.

_ It would be a waste otherwise,  _ his mind reasoned. 

Quentin huffed and snatched the green sweater from the basket again. It was soft and warm, and looked like it would fit. It was a little bit tighter than his normal turtlenecks, he thought, brushing a thumb over fine fabric.

_ I’ll wear it for a little bit,  _ he decided, planning to take it off if he didn’t like it.

With that in mind, he moved to the supply closet and changed quickly out of his black turtleneck.

_ It’s soft _ .

Quentin touched his neck, unused to an unrestricted sweater. He wasn’t sure whether or not he liked the sudden exposure. His neck was out in the open, now. It was weird. He was pretty sure he was making a big deal out of nothing, a simple strip of fabric around his neck shouldn’t have caused much apprehension.

He sighed, deciding that it wasn’t groundbreaking. With that in mind, Quentin shrugged on his lab coat and put his turtleneck in the basket on his desk, making plans to take it home, hopefully without Mike snagging a sweet.

Even though the sweater was immensely comfortable, he still decided to flip off the security cameras in the lab, half-certain that Stark would check on them.

_ There,  _ he glared at a camera.  _ Happy? _

  
  
  
  


Quentin really shouldn’t have been surprised when there was another even  _ larger  _ basket the next day, filled to the brim with cashmere sweaters and butterscotch suckers.

Quentin didn’t like butterscotch.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda wanna make this version of Beck into a oneshot style series and include Peter or the other Avengers at some point? Idk
> 
> But thank you for reading! This fic was self indulgent, really, but I’m very thankful for the kudos and comments and all that.


	6. Not an update-

y’all said you’d like a series, so I’m happy to deliver! The next work is up, featuring lots of banter between Tony and Quentin! Thanks for the reviews y’all, it was very sweet


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